


ain't ever gonna repent

by Lydia_Martin_trash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Church Sex, Discussion of Homophobia, M/M, NOT Catholic Church friendly, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 09:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Martin_trash/pseuds/Lydia_Martin_trash
Summary: Theon is not here for Robb, except for how he is, and Robb won't wait another minute to make things right between them, even if that means awkward talks and sex where his family might find them.





	ain't ever gonna repent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mis_Shapes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mis_Shapes/gifts).



> Thank you for the lovely Danielle for being the best beta, life-saver and awesome person in the world!
> 
> This story is for the wonderful MJ, a.k.a. Mis_Shapes, who is also into church sex. Isn't it weird how we give our fandom friends shameless porn as gifts? Alas, I don't make the rules. The Jon/Tormund is only nominal, but ENJOY!
> 
> Mind the tags, people! If you're offended by anything going on here, kindly keep it to yourself or I'll laugh at you! <3
> 
> Oh, title from Say Amen (Saturday Night), from PatD.

            Theon would have never imagined that out of all the Stark children, Arya would be the first to tie the knot.

If asked, his first guess would be Sansa, appreciator of romance and love and all feminine clichés that she is. He could also imagine Jon being kidnapped by his red-headed boyfriend and dragged to the altar by his hair, cave-man style. Yet little Arya Horseface has beaten them both to the punch.

            He can admit she has grown pretty over the years; however unfortunate her features had looked during childhood. At 20, she’s tall and tanned, with a loud laugh and gleaming eyes. Her white dress is simple lace, understated in its beauty, much like the bride herself. She’s not Theon’s type at all with her slim hips and barely any breast, but the groom is looking so fond as Mr. Stark walks her down the aisle that one would think she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.

            He doesn’t know why he has been invited, or why he has come. The Starks dislike him and Theon dislikes weddings. No matter how good the music, drinks or company at the reception, in the end they’re just a prelude to marriage, which in turn is a trap of metaphorical, invisible quicksand. By the time you realize the end is near, you’re already buried to the waist and any frantic attempt at freedom will only mean a quicker death or hospitalization at a mental health facility if you’re really unlucky.

            The Starks, of course, are all over it. Sansa is her sister’s maid of honor and looks radiant, no trace of envy in her face as she smiles at Arya. Jon is sitting at the front pew with Bran and Rickon and the ginger boyfriend; Theon can see them smiling and whispering among themselves even from where he’s sitting at the lateral bench, nearly hidden behind a pillar. Mrs. Stark looks immensely proud, producing a kerchief from thin air when Mr. Stark joins her side already tearing up.

            Only Robb looks like he’s bitten a lemon.

            He’s sitting two pews behind his family, with his Tully relatives, three heads of red with varying degrees of grey lined up. Theon is startled to realize that Robb has a streak of white in his hair.

            Has it truly been that long?

            He’s made a point of not noticing the time. If Robb doesn’t want to keep in touch, then it’s his loss. He can fuck off to Dublin again any time he wants for all Theon cares. And since he doesn’t care, he doesn’t need any closure or explanation for being left behind either.

            It would be the height of tackiness to abandon his seat and go confront him mid-wedding.

            Theon watches him as the ceremony passes in an interminable blur. It’s pouring outside, the water hitting the roof and drowning the priest’s voice to soporific effect, and he must entertain himself or risk falling asleep where he sits.

            It’s plain to see that Robb has changed.

            There is the frown on his face, the way he’s not even pretending to be happy for his sister. Oh, Theon wants to go and _dig_ there. Then there are the new lines on his face, so apparent even from a distance. Frown lines, bitter where he used to be all smiles. He rises when the people around him rise, sits when they sit, kneel when they kneel. He stays silent when they pray around him, like Theon does. Nothing like the boy who Theon had mocked for being an eager altar boy.

            Robb is not watching the ceremony either. He avoids his eyes, looking at the high decorated ceiling, at the choir, at the crucified statue staring at the congregation with baleful painted eyes. It’s inevitable that his gaze would land on Theon eventually, but it still catches him by surprise.

            Startled, Theon gives him his best razor-sharp grin on autopilot. Robb grins back, suddenly far too much like the boy that used to trail after Theon all the time with adoring eyes.

            That boy hadn’t even said goodbye to him before moving on. He had never called back or taken Theon’s calls; he had never said what Theon had done to drive him away.

            The congregation rises once again, but instead of getting in line to cannibalize Jesus, Theon slips out to the side chapel. There are only a few empty pews, the confession booth and the altar with a Saint Sebastian statue between him and the side entrance, then freedom. It was a bad idea to come at all. He doesn’t like Arya, he doesn’t like the groom or knows who he is, and he doesn’t like Robb anymore. He doesn’t want to talk to him.

            The door is locked when he makes it there. Honest to God, he contemplates the pros and cons of kicking it open, but then, over the splatter of rain and the babbler of people singing, he hears it: footsteps.

            Theon ducks into the confession booth and pulls the curtain closed hastily.

            Robb might have changed, but not enough that he walks any differently. Theon knows it’s him before he’s inside the chapel. The footsteps pause and Theon can imagine it so clearly, he doesn’t even need to really see it; Robb looking around, finding the closed curtain of the confession booth, then going back to the wedding with an even deeper frown on his face. But when the steps resume, they only get closer until Robb is sitting at the other side of the booth and smiling his dopiest smile at Theon.

            Theon smiles back, annoyed. At Robb, at the fluttery feeling in his chest, and at himself most of all.

            “Other people would get a clue if someone had run away and hidden from them,” he says.

            It’s the first words he has said to Robb in nearly seven years. It’s nothing like the scathing dismissal he has fantasized about, but still better than the rush of apologies and pleas for him to come back that had been his first instinct years ago.

            “Why did you come if you didn’t want to talk to me?” Robb asks, leaning his head on the grid panel separating them.

            “Didn’t you hear? Arya and I are tight now. I wouldn’t miss her big day.”

            Robb smirks. It’s ferocious and it takes Theon back to easy days of bumming cigarettes behind the school and watching the older girls pass by. He had been the only one to know that side of Robb back then and that had been a bigger kick than cutting class to smoke. Who knows how many people have seen him like this now.

            “It’s true I haven’t kept in touch beyond reading the monthly news e-mail, but I think I’d have heard about that.”

            “So, you haven’t kept in touch with the royal family either? Ouch, here I was, thinking I was special.”

            “Theon...” Robb has the gall to look contrite. “I’m sorry. I swear I had my reasons.”

            Theon snorts, disbelieving.

            “I’d hope so! Were they good reasons? That’s what remains to be seen.”

            “I can tell you later, if you must know. At the reception.”

            “I’m not going,” Theon says. He hopes he sounds final despite the trembling in his voice. “I’ve had enough of you lot.”

            Robb looks genuinely hurt. Theon watches as he blinks, very slow and deliberate, and his blue eyes shine wet. _Good_ , he thinks, viciously satisfied to see Robb in pain, but it’s not good at all. It doesn’t make him any more relieved.

            “I can’t tell you here.”

            “You can. Go on, close the door. Tell Father Theon your sins, we’re in the confessional.”

            He expects Robb to refuse again, to get up with a protest and go back to his sister’s wedding. For him to tell Theon he’s being ridiculous. A proper, if unpleasant, ending to what was once Theon’s most important relationship. At least he would have gotten to control it and call it done. Put it behind him instead of obsessing another ten years.

            Robb obeys.

            With both curtains and door closed, there’s so very little light that it’s nigh impossible to see Robb’s face. The sounds from the wedding are muted. Theon can barely make out the priest’s voice – blessing the new couple and introducing them as one being bond by oaths of love and devotion, no doubt, it must be that part already. He feels almost sad for them, so hopeful and rushing to inescapable disappointment, but mostly he’s envious. He had been hopeful once too; one of his most irritating character traits.

            Those things seem to work out for the Starks and the Starks alone.

            The sound of Robb’s voice is louder than anything else, though only a murmur. Soon Theon forgets to care about what is happening outside.

            “I couldn’t live like that anymore. I hated it here,” he says, a whisper that cuts Theon down even as he leans in to hear it better. “I was suffocating. Everything I loved started to feel like chains keeping me here to rot.”

            That is something Theon had known on some level, though they had never discussed it openly. Robb had been suffering. There had been an anger in him, though he had never told Theon the reason even when Theon had demanded it or prodded gently or asked please.

            He seems calmer now, despite the frown lines on his forehead.

            “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” His voice trembles. For once he doesn’t want to make things about himself, but he is egocentric. He fails. “I could have helped you.”

            “I’ve always been weak when it comes to you, we both know that. If you had asked me to stay, I would.”

            Theon nods, knowing Robb can’t really see it. Would he have made Robb stay? Probably. Before he had to go through it, Theon could never have imagined living without Robb.

            “Did it help at last? Going away?”

            “In part,” he says. “I haven’t left things in the past as much as I imagined I would. But Mom and Dad had to find out what it’s like to miss me, so now they bite their tongue about my lifestyle at least. What helped more was my great-uncle coming out.”

            “Lifestyle...? Coming o– Robb, is this about you being gay?” Theon asks, incredulous.

            He can hear the sounds of the people in the church in the silence that falls over them – walking and mingling inside, opening doors and what he thinks is some brave person facing the rain outside. They’ve missed the end of the wedding, he imagines. Theon can’t bring himself to care.

            “Yes. Yes, it is. I’m guessing you knew?”

            “Please.” Theon snorts in the dark. “I’m surprised it was ever a secret. You had a massive crush on me.”

            Robb snorts too, a bitter sound that nonetheless suits him.

            “Not a crush,” he says.

            “Oh, really? I was the best-looking guy around when you lived here, it would be only natural. I’m offended you’d pass me over for some of the men available. Who was your teenage crush then?”

            “Theon...”

            “Was it Jory?” He guesses, though he doesn’t really believe it. Jory had been _Theon’s_ teenage crush and his taste and Robb’s rarely overlapped. “Was it Ben Tallhart? Torrhen? They all look like dogs, you know.”

            “I mean it wasn’t a crush,” Robb says, breathless with strained laughter. “I loved you. I was in love with you.”

            “Oh.”

            “ _Oh_.” Robb says. There’s something mocking in his voice and something fond. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not like I didn’t learn how to live with it. I just never saw the point of saying anything. That’s not the reason. It was _everything_. Having to come to mass every Sunday to hear I’m going to burn until I believed it. And my parents – they didn’t _agree_ , but they never said anything against it, and they were shocked that Aly Mormont would dare to be out. They were sorry for her children, for the _embarrassment_ she was putting them through when she could not. And Uncle Brandon kept teaching Bran and Rickon all those jokes about gay men, I know he didn’t really mean it, but I was tired. I was starting to hate everybody.”

            “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me,” he whispers. A part of him wants to hold onto his anger, his hurt, the little bits of his heart Robb broke, but he can’t. He knows all too well what that’s like, but at least he had Asha. She had kept Theon company in the closet, but she had also been out before Theon and paved the way for him.

            And she was always quick to shut people up with fists if necessary.

            Robb had had no-one like that. He’d been alone.

            “I knew I could tell you. I knew you wouldn’t be an ass about it, but – you didn’t reciprocate it, and I knew you were going out with Patrek in the down low. I didn’t want to tell you because sometimes I could almost convince myself you could love me back and I didn’t want the truth to ruin my fantasy.”

            “I did reciprocate. I loved you a little,” Theon finally whispers after a beat of renewed silence. His heart is racing. This is the first time he’s said it aloud or even admits it to himself. It’s as scary as it is delicious, sending a thrill down his spine. “I never said anything because, well… It’s not the sort of thing we can come back from. Some good all this caution did us in the end.”

            Robb barks an angry laugh, then pushes the doors open abruptly.

            Theon stays still, barely breathing, fearing this is it, that Robb will go away now. Instead, Robb shoves the curtains in front of him aside and crowds into his space, kneeling by Theon’s feet, caging him in with his arms around Theon’s waist.

            “Am I forgiven yet?”

            It’s more demand than question, the way Robb says it. Even if he hadn’t already forgiven him, Theon would be helpless to disobey. He nods, smile trembling on his lips even as he cradles Robb’s face in his hands.

            “You were the one on the priest’s side, but I guess I can forgive you.”

            Robb looks at Theon with half-lidded eyes that shine with the light coming from the church. Theon strokes his cheek and down his rough beard. It’s full now, respectable, the kind of beard that will give you beard burn. Not the rat whiskers he had at eighteen. Robb leans into his touch, letting Theon hold him in place for only a little while. Then he’s taking Theon’s hand in his and laying them on top of Theon’s thighs.

            “Forgive me this too.”

            He keeps his eyes open as he leans up and forwards and when he kisses Theon as well. The weight of him pushes Theon right against the back of the confessional until he’s pressed between the wood panel and the mass of heat Robb’s body gives off, now standing and towering over Theon even in the cramped space. There’s no resisting him, no more than there is resisting entropy. Theon lets himself feel; he lets his mouth fall open for him. His arms close around broad shoulders and try to pull Robb even closer.

            It’s not possible, but still he clings to him, dragging nails all over his back under his boring suit jacket when Robb bites down on his lip.

            They separate when air becomes a necessity, not one second before. Only enough for shallow, urgent breaths. They hold onto each other, unwilling to give an inch.

            He’s never felt this dirty in his life. It’s unbelievable how turned on he is already from a single kiss.

            A whine escapes him when Robb pulls away, but he only moves to close the curtains behind them. Once enveloped by darkness, he’s on Theon again, a hand grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling until Theon has his head tipped back for another kiss; the other hand finds his neck, giving no pressure but a for callused thumb rubbing up and down sensitive skin. Then Robb props a knee on the seat between Theon’s open legs and moves forward until Theon gladly takes the invitation to rut against his leg.

            Theon hums in approval around Robb’s tongue when the hand on his throat goes further down and opens the first two buttons of his shirt, but fuck, they are about to get it on inside a church, something Robb would never have even contemplated before, Theon is sure. He turns his head away from the kiss intent on speaking – not easy with the way Robb sucks on his neck until Theon is melting under his mouth.

            “Are you sure?” he whispers, biting his lips to keep quiet. “We’re in a church. We could wait and go somewhere else.”

            “I’ve waited ten years. If God’s bothered, He’s welcome to strike me down,” Robb says and presses his knee harder against Theon’s hard-on. “But since we haven’t burst into flames yet, I’m taking He approves.”

            “Glad that’s cleared up.” Theon smiles, stroking from Robb’s back to his chest and down to undo his belt. He slips a hand inside his pants to palm at Robb’s dick, big and already hard too. Theon is salivating. “Come on and fuck me now.”

            “Get me ready then.”

            They don’t waste any time. Maybe a decade is long enough, maybe he’s as impatient as Theon, but it doesn’t really matter. What is important is that Robb pushes his own underwear down, rubs at Theon’s lips with a rough thumb and then guides the head of his cock inside.

            There’s no time to get used to it. As soon as Theon starts to suck – cheeks hollowing and mouth full even though Robb’s holding half of his dick in his hand still, the weight on his tongue overwhelming, making him rut against Robb’s leg in earnest – Robb is pulling back. He fucks in and out of Theon’s mouth at his own leisure, giving him no more than a taste before taking it away, leaving Theon to moan pathetically and try to follow until he’s being held in place by the jaw.

            “I knew you’d be a slut; you haven’t changed a bit.” Robb’s voice is quiet and soft, a balm to the harsh words that make Theon ache with need. “Six and a half years and you’re still hungry for cock.”

            He rubs his cockhead over Theon’s lips, cheek and chin, leaving smears of pre-come all over his face and Theon licks off what he can, but he imagines getting out like this and people _knowing_ , and he says the first thing he can think of without any hint of self-consciousness.

            “Six and a half years and you still can’t get over me.”

            Robb laughs in the dark over him. “Touché.”

            It’s the last they talk for a while. Robb stops kneeling to put his foot on the side of Theon’s leg, taking even that little relief from him, and then Theon is being guided back to suck on Robb’s hairy balls, on his taint and the length of his cock until his jaw is aching, until Robb deems his cock slick enough.

            The getting into position almost throws the whole thing off. Between Theon standing up to turn around at Robb’s urging and their joint attempts at shoving his pants down enough for him to kneel on the seat, Robb almost falls down on his arse with his dick out. They _are_ two grown men occupying a place meant for one person, singular. The curtains flutter before Robb steadies himself on the grid panel. Past the heavy clothing, Theon can hear people talking loudly as they supposedly wait the rain out and it finally dawns on him that they _are having sex_ right after Robb’s little sister’s wedding. While people outside make small talk. In a place they might very well get caught.

            Robb has to actually put a hand over Theon’s mouth to contain his giggling somewhat, but even he snorts into Theon’s neck before biting down and sucking a hickey there.

            Theon’s laughter melts into a moan and next thing he knows he’s sucking on Robb’s fingers, braced against the back-wood panel. It hits him again, the all-consuming arousal when he thinks people will _know_. Anyone could walk in on them, but even if no one does, even if they are quiet, there’s no mistaking the marks on his neck or the tackiness on his face or fuck, the way he’s going to walk when they’re done. Robb’s cock had felt big in his hand, in his mouth, but it’s almost too much now he’s pushing inside with just a dribble of spit. Theon wants to howl at the delicious burn, at how full he is, but Robb holds him still by the waist, tight enough to bruise. Theon can only groan around the fingers in his mouth and let his eyes roll back in delight as Robb fucks him at his own sweet pace.

            It’s tortuously slow. Even past the point of letting Theon get used to the friction, of angling to find the best spot to make Theon a shaking mess in his arms. Robb keeps his thrusts steady and drawn-out. No amount of whining from Theon can make him go faster.

            “Easy. Let me savor it,” he says on Theon’s ear. The huskiness of his voice is the only sign that he’s affected at all, that his control is not complete. “I’ve only wanted this forever.”

            He’s clearly also planned this forever. Maybe not the specificities such as time and place, granted, but it’s clear Robb knows exactly how he wants to fuck Theon. Worse, he must remember every single pornographic detail Theon had bragged about, because he’s relentless in taking Theon apart. He couldn’t be more precise if he had a goddamn map.

            Theon is riding a wave of pleasure he has no control over. He can only let it go on and on and hope it’ll crash over him and take him under.

            The moment Robb decides Theon is done; he’s done.

            “You can come now,” he whispers in his ear and touches Theon’s dick – a soft, purposeful brush across the slit, barely there.

            Theon didn’t know he was waiting for permission, but now that he has it, his whole-body rushes to obey. His eyes close on their own, his toes curl inside his shoes, he bites harder at Robb’s fingers. Robb holds him up when his legs fail him and Theon leans forward, hitting his forehead to the wood panel with a dull thud. He feels the loss when Robb finally takes his hand back and when he pulls out.

            He’s so out of it that he’d do anything Robb asked. Letting Robb finish inside, however uncomfortable the length of him feels now Theon has come, would be the least of it.

            Instead, Robb finishes on Theon’s back with only a few strokes. A gentleman to the end, though not so much he doesn’t rub his come all over Theon’s dimples like an animal.

            “Nagh,” Theon protests, but it doesn’t go much further than that. He’s already a mess.

            He gladly lets Robb manhandle him back into his own clothes and pull him into his lap when he sits back down. He rests his hand on Robb’s chest, right over his heart, just to feel the still frantic drumming rhythm under his fingers.

            “I’d have come to church more often if that was what I got.”

            Robb snorts under his breath and lays a peck on the top of Theon’s head.

            “Let’s not make that a common occurrence. I have a hotel bed waiting for us.”

            Theon is not going to worry about how long that bed will be Robb’s, or what is the state of his bed in Dublin. He’s too comfortable for that, too sated. A bit smug, if he’s honest. Even if he is in the cramped confession booth he’s just desecrated.

            “Can you teleport us there? Arya might kill us if she catches us.”

            Robb might pass as merely a sweaty guy on his own, but Theon knows he must look wrecked. He feels it. And the smugness would certainly give him away.

            He’s also not beyond randomly blurting out that he’s just sexed Robb up, either. He can’t be trusted when he’s this blissed-out.

            Robb pulls a little at the curtains, enough to peck outside. There is less sound of talking than when Theon last paid attention, but he can deduce there’s still people around.

            “Arya and Ned must be gone by now,” Robb says, leaving the curtains semi-open. “It’s my Mom we have to worry about.”

            Fresh air comes in and awakens Theon some, enough that he can comprehend what bothers him about that sentence.

            “She married a guy called Ned?”

            “Edric. Ned’s his nickname,” Robb says, rubbing at Theon’s back distractedly, like that will make Theon miss the upwards pull of his lips.

            Theon smirks into Robb’s chest and lets him go on without comment.

            “He’s Jon’s milk brother or something, I’m not clear on the details, but that’s how they met. His mother and Aunt Lya didn’t have enough milk, so they shared some other lady’s tits.”

            Theon laughs until he’s crying hearing that. Robb has to slap his back; he laughs so hard he stops breathing.

            “When they were _babies_ , Theon. Lord Almighty.”

            “Shut up! Like you didn’t set me up for this one!”

            He knows it’s true because Robb is laughing with him instead of giving him the stink eye. He pets Theon’s hair and lays a last kiss on Theon’s forehead and doesn’t complain when Theon shares his thoughts.

            “Still, it’s funny. She picked a guy who shares a name with her father and a brotherly connection with her favorite brother. Capital I issues. I’d know. I’ve yet to meet a catholic that escapes unscathed.”

            “It’s enough to escape at all. Let’s try too.”

            The chapel is as empty as before, only the Saint Sebastian statue bearing witness to the way they try to make themselves presentable again, and to the jizz stain they leave behind in the confessional. Theon thinks it looks strangely forgiving.

            There are people still about the church, but much fewer than before. It seems like no one thought to bring umbrellas, so Rickon and Jon are taking people to their cars under theirs.

            Arya and the Neds are nowhere to be found. Neither is Sansa or the other Starks, except for the one they’re actively trying to avoid.

            Catelyn all but materializes from thin air to intercept them on the way to the front doors.

            “Theon, hello. Are you well, Robb? Uncle Brynden said you went to the bathroom in the middle of the ceremony and disappeared.”

            She looks so worried that Theon nearly feels bad about banging her son during what should have been an emotive family celebration. Almost. In the end he’s too well fucked to care. And the worry doesn’t last anyway – once she’s reassured not one of her offspring is dying, she takes a look at them and frowns.

            Theon watches all stages of grief play out on her face as she realizes what they’ve been up to. Her eyes go from Robb’s sweaty and still flushed faced in shock, to Theon’s hastily tucked-in shirt with denial. Anger hits when she looks at his disheveled hair and the marks on his neck. Bargaining, depression and testing have come and gone by the time her gaze settles on their joined hands.

            She watches as Robb squeezes Theon’s hand and Theon squeezes back. Acceptance hits.

            “I’ll see you both at the reception,” she commands. “After you freshen up.”

            Robb’s callused thumb rubs at the back of Theon’s hand. Theon looks from Catelyn’s thankfully ever more distant back to find a boyish smile that shouldn’t be so familiar, but still is somehow.

            “My hotel is only three blocks from here. I can find you something to wear.”

            Theon knows Robb’s clothes will look clownishly large on him. He doubts Robb has anything to his taste. But it seems that forgiveness is brimming in the air today.

            Theon nods and they leave to face the pouring rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and let me know what you think. Also let me know if I missed any tags. I'm rainhalydia on tumblr.


End file.
